


Can't You See That I Love You?

by TheMipstaz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, Jewish Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Marijuana, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9613589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMipstaz/pseuds/TheMipstaz
Summary: No matter where you begin the story, it’s about two best friends who love each other more than the wolf and the moon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://nevergooutofstiles.tumblr.com/post/155332593245/merry-christmas-and-happy-new-year-to) as a Christmas gift. Thanks for reading! Any feedback is appreciated :]

Depending on where you begin the story, it’s about a skateboard. Specifically, the secondhand  _Neck Deep_ skateboard that Stiles has been eyeing in the window of the local pawn shop since summer school. Even more specifically, the summer school that Stiles doesn’t even technically need. But he’s retaking U.S. History anyways so Scott isn’t alone and forced to partner with Greenberg for every project. 

“Dude,” Scott tried to protest at first. “You shouldn’t totally waste your summer just because I failed history.” 

“Scotty, what are best friends for?” Stiles clapped him on the back. “Besides, I’m the one who wanted to try smoking in the first place. So it’s technically half my fault that you’re here. The other half is the devil’s lettuce.” 

Scott buys the skateboard the next day even though it means a solid half hour of haggling and he has no spending money for the next couple weeks. Not to mention it’s a bitch to conceal from Stiles until the holidays. He has to keep finding increasingly creative hiding spots since Stiles is over more often than not. But Scott doesn’t regret his purchase for a single moment. 

* * *

Depending on where you begin the story, it’s about Scott McCall and his intense love of the holiday season: no school, festive fairy lights, the mouthwatering smell of baking cookies, cold hands holding warm mugs of cocoa, staying up late watching cheesy movies with his mom, and spending all day with Stiles. 

The two of them don’t even make it to the end of the last day of school before winter break. Instead, they ditch their final period, dodging out of sight of the school security guard to slip unnoticed into the student parking lot. Scott doesn’t dare let out a victory whoop until Roscoe successfully revs to life and peels out of the parking lot. 

They’re home free. 

Stiles grins madly, bright eyes leaving the road to glance at Scott far more often than strictly safe. But Scott is too busy cranking up the radio and shouting along to a forgettable Top 40 pop song to notice how Stiles’ eyes linger. 

“I helped Mom made Santa cookies last night if you want to head to my place,” Scott shouts over the tinny vocals. He drums idly on the dash, horribly offbeat. Stiles should not find it as endearing as he does. 

“Yeah sure,” Stiles says, tearing his eyes away from Scott’s crooked smile. “Even if I don’t believe in the dude, I think I can forsake my religion just long enough to eat his delicious face.” 

“We could make little Menorah cookies if you want,” Scott offers, reaching out of the open window to grip the side of the roof when Stiles makes a particularly jerky lane change to pass a slow driver. Well, slow compared to Stiles’ 15 miles over the speed limit. Scott rolls his eyes at the driver’s angry finger as Roscoe careens past. “Well, I don’t know how easy that’s going to be actually. How about stars of David? That’s a thing, right? The 6 pointed stars?” 

Stiles chuckles, chest feeling warm and gooey at the thought of Scott attempting to sculpt mini Menorahs out of dough. The first batch would probably be a little burnt, Scott underestimating how fast the skinny dough candles would cook. 

But Stiles knows he would still eat them, knows he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his winters like that—in a perfect balance of his culture and Scott’s. Melissa’s famous Christmas tamales alongside Stiles’ _babcia_ ’s to-die-for _challah_. Scott’s unending optimism and faith to balance Stiles’ cynicism and distrust. Two things some wouldn’t think would be a good combination that end up turning out to be, like, a perfect combination together. 

* * *

Depending on where you begin the story, it’s about Beacon Hills receiving snow for the first time in over 3 decades. Stiles wakes up Christmas morning languidly. He and the sheriff slept over at the McCalls’ last night, the sheriff in the guest room and Stiles in Scott’s. Scott snuffles sleepily beside him, eyelashes fluttering. 

The tiny movement captures Stiles’ attention. The morning sun peeking through the curtains to splay delicate shadows over Scott’s smooth skin and slack mouth. The air feels cool against his exposed face and neck, but Stiles revels in the warmth of Scott and his sheets. 

“St’ls?” Scott mumbles. “S’cold.” Then he promptly falls back asleep. 

Stiles yawns. He wipes at his watering eyes, which uncomfortably jostles his entirely too full bladder. Groaning, Stiles drags himself out of bed to zombie walk to the bathroom. He can barely keep his eyes open, let alone aim, and simply prays that he doesn’t get enough pee everywhere that Melissa decides to murder him. 

On his way back to bed, the sheriff catches Stiles and shoves a shovel into his hand. 

“If the McCalls are letting us stay here, the least we can do is shovel the snow from their driveway so Melissa doesn’t have a problem getting to the hospital this morning,” the sheriff says firmly. 

Stiles’ eyes flick between the shovel and the sheriff, who’s already halfway back to the guest room. “Um, father of mine, I see no ‘we’ in this whatsoever. What happened to team work?” 

“What happened to today’s youth respecting their elders?” the sheriff quips back. “Consider this payback for all the times I never brought up the smell of marijuana on your clothes.” He closes his door. 

Stiles scowls, but, contrary to popular opinion, he knows when he’s been bested. He grumpily tromps back to Scott’s room to dig around his bag for a jacket and boots. Scott’s splayed out over where Stiles had been sleeping. He sits up and runs a hand through his messy curls. “Stiles?” he murmurs. “Wha’samatter?” 

“Nothing, Scotty,” Stiles sighs. “Go back to bed.” 

“’Kay. Just a few more minutes, promise.” Scott rolls over and is out like a light again. 

Stiles smiles fondly and yanks on a couple hoodies, but doesn’t have anything except his sneakers because he wasn’t expecting snow. No one in Beacon Hills was. 

Muttering one last prayer for his toes before they get frostbite and have to be amputated, Stiles grabs the shovel and marches outside. 

He’s nearly done with the driveway and the sun is well overhead when Stiles notices the car. A thin layer of snow coats the paint, sticking slightly in a white blanket. That’s not the unusual part. The unusual part is the “can’t you see that I love you?” written onto the windshield. 

The windshield that faces the house and is in plain view when the front door opens and Scott comes out. His brows furrow at the frosty love note. 

“Uh,” Stiles stammers eloquently. “It’s, um, not what you think?” 

Scott’s face contorts even more in confusion. 

“Happy second day of Hanukkah?” Stiles tries again with a wince. 

Scott still doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t storm back into the house and demand that Stiles never talks to him again either, so Stiles is thankful for small mercies. 

“So then this isn’t…?”

“I don’t… Maybe?” Stiles says helplessly, clutching the shovel like a lifeline. His heart stutters and his breath catches as he says it aloud. 

It’s not that Stiles’ crush would come as a catastrophic shock to Scott. They had the Coming Out Talk when Stiles was 15 and officially bi and then again when they were 17 and Scott hopped on the queer bandwagon. It’s just that Stiles has been saying “I love you” to Scott since they were in kindergarten together. He says it when Scott keeps Stiles’ favorite soda in his fridge or picks Stiles up when Roscoe breaks down and after pretty much every phone conversation they have. Stiles doesn’t even know anymore what he’s feeling is. 

But looking at the hopeful way Scott bites his bottom lip, Stiles thinks it might be a different kind of love than his 5 year-old self originally meant. 

“Not maybe,” Stiles amends quickly, meeting Scott’s eyes head one even as his hands tremble. “Yes. Scott, yes.” 

Scott’s eyes crinkle when he quietly breathes out, “Me too.” 

* * *

No matter where you begin the story, it’s about two best friends who love each other more than the wolf and the moon. 


End file.
